


We Found a Witch (May We Burn Her?)

by Gala_and_Elle, theletterelle



Series: Slantverse [11]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - High School, Dirty Talk, Historical Reenactment, Multi, Nipple Play, Public Nudity, Puppy Play, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gala_and_Elle/pseuds/Gala_and_Elle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria may or may not be a witch, but Gabe is definitely a dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Found a Witch (May We Burn Her?)

“It’s too hot,” Gabe complains.

“I swear to God, Gabriel, if you don’t quit bitching I’m going to tie you up and let Nate have his way with you.” Victoria fusses with her French hood, staring into her reflection in the car window. Nate looks startled, then worried. “Calm down, puppy,” she says. “He’ll behave.”

“If I don’t die of heat exhaustion first.”

“You’re the one who wanted to wear velvet. Suffer.”

“I like my outfit,” Nate volunteers. Victoria gives him a pat on the head. “Good boy.”

“At least I have a cape,” Gabe says, swirling it around his ankles. “Every man should have a cape. Well, not peasants,” looking archly at Nate, “but every man who is me should have a cape.”

“If you don’t behave,” says Victoria, “I am going to hurt you when we get home. And it won’t be a fun hurt. Come on.”

Inside the village, the trees shield them from the worst of the sun. Gabe cheers up and drags them over to a jeweler with a display of shiny metal collars. “Want something new, pup?” he asks Nate.

Nate shakes his head. “Those are people collars. I like mine better.” The spikes make him feel dangerous, like a bad dog that might bite if someone isn’t careful.

“It is kind of unwieldy,” says Victoria. “ _Someone_ didn’t really think it through.”

“I like mine,” says Nate stubbornly. Gabe gives Victoria a haughty look. “Quiet, wench, or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeons. Do they have dungeons here?”

“I’ll have them put you on the rack,” says Victoria. “Okay, no new collars today. Moving on.”

There’s a lot to buy here. It’s a permanent installation, not a renaissance fair but an entire renaissance-era village. There’s a blacksmith who pounds on glowing hot iron, a chandlery where women dip candles, an outdoor oven, an armorer, a glassblower. “Will he make me a bong?” asks Gabe. Victoria rolls her eyes. Nate giggles.

“The king approaches!” calls someone. “Long live the king!” Everyone around them sinks into a deep curtsey, or kneels with hat in hand. Victoria and Nate do the same. “You’re kidding,” says Gabe. Victoria grabs him by the wrist and drags him down. “You are ruining this for me,” she hisses. “Get into the spirit, or so help me God, I will keep Nate at my house and you won’t come for a week. Got it?”

Gabe sighs, put-upon like no one else. “Fine,” he says, whips off his hat, and bows his head. “Hail to the king.”

-o-

It used to make Nate uneasy when Gabe and Victoria fought. Sometimes it didn’t even seem like they liked each other, even though bringing Gabe into their relationship had been Victoria’s idea. Nate was happy to go along with it-- he wasn’t entirely sure about Gabe at the start, but he trusted Victoria’s taste. It wasn’t long, though, before they began to snipe at each other, and Nate had waited for one or the other to order him to take sides. They hadn’t, and gradually he’s gotten used to their taunting back and forth. Sometimes the fights are real, and Victoria’s cutting and cold, while Gabe is viciously sarcastic. But mostly a fight ends with one or the other flat on their face, being driven into the bed.

Today is that kind of fight.

-o-

Gabe throws himself into the experience wholeheartedly, enough so Victoria’s mollified for a little while. They visit the theatre to watch an abridged production of Love’s Labour’s Lost, and Victoria sends Nate to get her a frozen orange. When he returns, he finds Gabe on one knee. “For I do love thee, my lady, with a love everlasting, or at least so long as the intermission shall last. But then must my heart return to the fair Rosaline, for she far outshines my lady in beauty as the golden retriever doth the pit bull.”

Nate sits down and munches on the orange himself, watching the show. He’s not disappointed. Victoria slaps Gabe, who grins back at her. “What ho, my lady! What ho, my love! What love, my ho!”

Nate laughs. Victoria turns to glare at him, and he shrugs. “He’s using the right words, at least,” he points out. “Sort of.”

Victoria gives up, sighs, and shakes her head. “I can’t take you two anywhere,” she says, gathering her voluminous skirts around her. “All right, fine. We’ll go.”

Aw. Nate’s a little sad for her, but it’s not for him to argue. That’s Gabe’s job, which Gabe is not at all interested in performing. Well, at least they’ll get home in time for Nate to get a start on his English paper. Maybe he can pull some bullshit analysis of Love’s Labour’s Lost into it and get an A. Well. Maybe a B.

They’re nearly at the entrance when they see a court fool leaping at the head of a procession of soldiers and a sour-faced man in a long brown robe. “Make way for the Witchfinder!” shouts the fool. “The Witchfinder approacheth! Bring out your witches!”

All three look at each other simultaneously. “No,” says Victoria, as a delighted smile spreads across Gabe’s face. “Yes,” he says. “Oh, Witchfinder!”

Well. Nate guesses they won’t be leaving after all.

-o-

She is going to kill him. She is going to _kill him dead_. The Witchfinder’s minions had taken her by the arms and marched her to the nearby stage, set up as a trial court complete with prisoner’s dock and dunking tank. Backstage she’d signed the release forms, and they’d taken her dress away, promising to keep it from getting dirty. She had taken out the pins that held up her braids into their twisted crown. Now she stands in the dock, wearing only her shift, her long brown hair loose around her shoulders, glaring at Gabe. Gabe kisses his fingers at her and waves. He rests an elbow on Nate’s head; Nate puts up with it patiently.

“All rise for the Witchfinder!” The man takes the stage and steps into the judge’s bench. He bangs on the desk with his gavel, which Victoria is pretty sure isn’t period, but whatever. “Let the accused stand forward,” the Witchfinder says in a reedy voice that nevertheless projects out over the crowd.

Victoria takes a step. Maybe this is where she gets to defend herself. “Lady Victoria Asher,” she says, “and I am not a witch, my lord. In fact, I accuse him.” She points at Gabe.

The head minion beside the bench frowns. “The little one? Guards, fetch the little one,” he calls.

“No!” Victoria nearly stamps her foot. “The big one. With the stupid grin, that one.”

The head minion shrugs. “Guards, fetch the big one,” he calls, but the Witchfinder bangs his gavel again. “No one will fetch anyone,” he says. “We will not take the word of an accused witch.”

Victoria almost laughs. Of course they won’t. Gabe looks smug, and she is itching to wipe that smirk off his face and make him pay. A month, he’s not going to get to come for a _month_ , not unless there’s some serious repentance going on...

“Now, Lady Victoria,” says Witchfinder. “You are accused of witchcraft, that you did cause the cream in the village jugs to sour, the butter not to turn, and the bread not to rise. Do you deny the charges laid against you?”

“I do, sir.” No harm in being polite. Maybe it’ll protect her from the dunk tank, although she’s pretty sure that’s unlikely. “My lord Gabriel was merely jesting. I’m sure he’s sorry for it now--” and if not, he will be-- “and wishes to retract his words.”

“I am not,” calls Gabe from the audience, “and I do not. She bewitched this poor lad here and made him believe he was a dog. He ran about on his hands and knees and tried to lick his own--”

“That will do,” interrupts the Witchfinder hastily. “Is the boy still bewitched?”

At a look from Gabe, Nate drops to his hands and knees and barks. Oh for God’s sake. Victoria is going to kill them, then lock Nate in a closet, then kill Gabe again for good measure.

“Apparently, sir,” Gabe says, nudging Nate with his foot. Nate whines and presses his head against Gabe’s thigh. “Though I have to say, he’s a good dog. Doesn’t bite or anything.”

“What more proof do we need?” calls someone from the audience. “She’s a witch!” He begins chanting, and the crowd takes it up. “Witch! Witch! Witch!”

“Now, now.” The Witchfinder’s high voice cuts through the noise. “Before condemning her, there are three tests a witch must undergo. Test the first-- does she sink or float? Guards, to the ducking stool!”

Oh, Victoria gives up. It’s just a show anyway; it’s not like she’d actually get an opportunity to defend herself. And it really is a hot day. She lets them tie her to the stool, protests for form’s sake, and holds her breath as they slide her down the ramp and into the water. Hey, look at that, the tank is shallower than it looks, and she sinks in only up to her neck. She’s floating. What a surprise.

“Witch!” calls the crowd. She can’t see Gabe, but she can bet he’s cheering along with the rest of them.

“The accused,” says the Witchfinder, “has failed test the first. Test the second! Bring forth the scales!”

The minions pull her out of the tank and cut the ropes. Her shift is plastered to her, her hair sticking to the back of her neck. A breeze makes her shiver. They pull her to a giant set of scales, where a brass-bound Bible rests on one side. “If,” says the Witchfinder to the crowd, “if she weighs more than the Bible, she is full of its truth, and is not a witch. But if she weighs less...”

“Witch!” shouts the crowd gleefully.

Victoria sits on the other side of the scales and swings her feet. They release the catch, and to her not-surprise, she lurches up, not down. That book must be made of iron or something.

“Witch!” shouts the crowd again. She can see Gabe and Nate from up here. Gabe is grinning like a lunatic, and Nate is still on his hands and knees by Gabe’s side. They had told him no puppy play today, but here he is. Well fine, she’ll punish both of them. Once she gets out of this. Once her skin isn’t flushing with embarrassment and suppressed lust.

“Lady Victoria has failed test the second!” cries the Witchfinder. “On to test the third!”

“Test the third!” yells the crowd. Oh great. She knows what’s coming next; they made sure to explain everything so she’d know exactly what she was consenting to. The minions pull her off the scale and drag her to the center of the stage, the Witchfinder steps up with a knife, and--

There goes the shift she’d paid Amy to sew for her. Gabe is going to pay for a new one. One of the guards tugs at her hair, and Victoria lets him pull her head back to display her body to the audience. They cheer. As well they should; she knows what she looks like. She bets Gabe is rubbing up against Nate at this very moment. She presses her thighs together. That’s more erotic than it needs to be right now.

The Witchfinder runs fingers down Victoria’s chest, cupping one breast in his hand. She shivers, and her nipples harden. It’s the wind, she tells herself, the wind on her damp skin, not who he is, not where he’s touching-- oh. She twists her head to look at him. “Do that again,” she breathes. Up close, he’s only made up to look old. He’s not really more than a few years older than she is. The Witchfinder gives her a little smile and pinches again. Oh. He takes her other nipple in his fingers and twists. She can’t keep from leaning toward him.

“When tortured,” he announces, “the witch does not cry out, but acts the whore! Test the third has been failed! My lords and ladies, we have a witch among us!”

There’s more cheering as the guards drag her offstage. “Hail Lord Satan,” she shrieks. She bets Gabe is cracking the hell up right now. She would be if this were him, or if she weren’t so turned on she wants to jump the Witchfinder.

The backstage people give her a gift card for a one-hour massage for being part of the show. Nice. They move to take her ruined shift, but just then Gabe pushes his way in. “No, no, leave it,” he orders. “She’s mine.”

Normally, Victoria would bristle and slap at him for that, but after that whole exhibition, she’s aroused as hell. She lets him give her dress to Nate to carry, and she follows Gabe out, clutching the edges of her shift together for decency’s sake. She can still feel where the Witchfinder pinched her.

Gabe has clearly been studying the map, because he leads the two of them unerringly past the inn to the stables behind it. There’s a stablehand there. Gabe hands him a twenty. “We want to use the loft,” he says. “Give us half an hour, okay? Don’t let anyone up there.”

The stablehand pockets the money. “Have fun, you kids.” He grins at the flush on Victoria’s cheeks.

-o-

Gabe leads them up there. The ceiling is low, so he can’t do it with the flourish he intended, but he takes off his cape and lays it out on the hay. Victoria is trembling, but he’s pretty sure it’s not from cold.

It’s time to be firm. Gabe knows that’s what works for her now. He takes the edges of her shift and rips them apart, all the way down to the hem. The shift falls off her, and he takes her by the back of the neck and pushes her down onto the makeshift bed. “Nate,” he commands. “Get naked.”

While Nate is undressing, Gabe brushes Victoria’s hair off her cheek. “Do you know what I’m going to do, witch?” She shakes her head. “I’m going to let your dog-boy fuck you.”

She moans.

“He’s going to fuck you like the whore you are,” Gabe presses relentlessly, “and you’re going to suck my cock. Satan’s cumslut.” That might be a bit much, but Gabe is nothing if not over the top. Right now, Victoria doesn’t seem to mind.

“Spread your legs, bitch,” says Gabe. Victoria does, getting her knees under her so Nate can have access. “Nate, fuck this slut till she screams.”

Gabe orchestrates the entire scene like a master conductor. He keeps Nate under specific orders, so Nate won’t feel like he’s doing this of his own volition. He whispers to Victoria, describing what Nate’s doing to her, what she looks like all spread open and shuddering. He calls her names, knowing what that does to her when she’s in this mood. He gives her his cock, and when she screams with her mouth full, he throws his head back and groans through his teeth. He doesn’t warn her when he’s about to come. She chokes and lets it spill out of her mouth. Gabe pulls her up and kisses her, tasting himself on her tongue. Behind her, Nate pants in time with his movement, “Please, please, please...”

“Come,” Gabe orders. With another two thrusts, Nate buries himself deep inside Victoria and shudders, nearly crying. Under him, Victoria moans in protest. Gabe twists one of her nipples again and reaches down to her clit. It only takes thirty seconds for her to scream again. Gabe covers her mouth with his other hand.

The three of them collapse onto Gabe’s cloak. It’s pretty much ruined. He doesn’t care. “God,” begins Victoria, and falls silent.

“Yes?” answers Gabe.

She smacks him on the ass, but there’s no force behind it. “You’re such an assface,” she says. “I told you that was a fantasy. And a Witchfinder? Really? Did you plan this whole thing?”

“I may have made a few calls,” says Gabe lazily. “Did you really think I was that much of a dick that I’d deliberately ruin your day? I’m offended. Nate, punish her.”

“No,” says Nate, curled up at Victoria’s feet. “I’m done today. Scene’s over, so don’t even.”

“Even my dog is against me,” sighs Gabe. “See what I sacrifice for you?”

She smacks his ass again. “Don’t think you’re done with this. I’m still going to hurt you when we get home. Once I can stand up again.”

Gabe grins. “I’m counting on it, baby.”


End file.
